


Render

by CyberSearcher



Series: Moving Forward [7]
Category: Tron (Movies), Tron - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Mall Shenanigans, Past Relationship(s), Tron is Confused by Users, User World, When you go shopping with th guy who killed your friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2020-05-07 17:35:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19214245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CyberSearcher/pseuds/CyberSearcher
Summary: Realizing that they forgot to get Tron and Quorra clothes for the Gala, Alan let’s the borrow his credit card and trust the Program and ISO not to tear eachother apart.





	Render

**Author's Note:**

> One again I’m bullshitting store names cause I don’t know jack *:D

He’s picking at his sleeves again.

Tron removes his hand from the cloth and back to the metal pole, even if he doesn’t need it to keep his balance. Quorra sits behind him, nose buried in yet another book. More Users have entered, more bodies he’s painfully aware of. He risks disobeying the signs that explicitly state not to stand within proximity to the door just so he has some margin of distance. He even finds himself slouching forward again. 

The ISO sees his movement from just above the margin of her pages. Though she doesn’t act, she makes a note of it. Looking up to the display, she cross references it with the map and smiles.

“We’ll be off on the next stop.” She leans forward and tells the Monitor. 

He gives a quick nod, face back to a passive state. Quorra isn’t sure what else to say - she’s unsure if he’d even want her to say anything - so she offers no further comment and returns to her stories. Tron ends up leaning closer to the small windows set into the doors, watching the streets go by and trying to ignore the ruckus behind him. 

The Program reminds himself that he’s capable, that he can manage this miniscule task. A beta level test. He was designed to act independently, it’s the core of his function. If he can’t…

_“You’re getting better, it’s what you always do Tron.”_

Tron reaches back into his pocket and brushes against the edges of his dictionary. He ends up fixated on his new habit, so much so that once the bus finally stops it takes another User brushing past his arm to break him out of his trance. He steps off briskly, reminding himself once again not to slouch. The smell of exhaust makes him cough and he covers his mouth as he waits a fair distance. 

Thankfully, Quorra seems to have been engrossed in her own book. She stumbles out after him, hastily shoving her bookmark between its pages while pulling up her shirt to block her nose. Tucking it into the backpack she always keeps half slung over her shoulders, she steps to his side. Their left standing just across from the main building.

“Sam gave me a list of stores we could check out. And some extra cash incase we… in case there was anything else we’d need.” She say, hastily changing her use of words.

“You can say you want to eat. I won’t be mad.” He says simply as he trails behind her. 

“Oh, okay.” The ISO doesn’t turn to check for his reaction. Quorra knows it’ll just be the ever persistent mask of neutrality and silence. “We can check Crofters first, Alan recommend that one.” 

Tron takes note of the visuals first, then he sniffs the air and frowns. Quorra also seems to agree in his disdain, keeping her mouth covered and waving her hand in front of her nose like it’ll dispel the new - and equally unpleasant - scent. They even share a quick glance of mutual irritation. Smell; it isn’t something either of them will ever be accustomed to. 

“It’s like a… like leather?” Quorra tries to pin it down. “But not the jacket kind.” 

The Security Program does have the memory of a similar smell, Alan One’s cologne. Though he doesn’t recall it being this distracting. They manage to ignore it well enough and return to their task at hand. Tron takes the fabric of one of the renders - swirling greens and blue, thin, long material, wold ‘t obscure movement - and quickly pulls out his dictionary. 

Checking his notes, he reaffirms its name - _’dress. noun one-piece garment that covers the body and extends down over the legs.’_ \- Tron turns back to the ISO. “Sam F - Sam did state that dresses were appropriate gala attire?” 

 

“Hmm?” She turns back from eyeing a mannequin wearing loose black pants, a belt that hugs its waist and a cream coloured shirt - a blouse or a cardigan, one of the two. “Yea, I think so.” 

Tron can’t help but simulate how that belt might cause discomfort if he’d needed to bend and twist out of the way of an incoming strike. Though as he analyzes the dress, Tron realizes he’ll have to find something that’ll guarantee to cover all of his circuits since the thin straps and low cut won’t do much to hide them. Alongside the fact none of them seems to be his size. 

Which he admits to being mildly saddened about. 

Quorra already has a small collection of shirts herself, alongside a pair of skirts. He follows her into the store, looking over and past the displays Quorra pauses at and the people he tries not to brush past. Trying to mark something that fits his parameters.

“Hey, what about this?” She holds up a dark navy dress shirt with silver-grey buttons, “I think this may be your size.” 

It is dark enough to hide his circuits. Though- “Yes. Thank you.”-Tron does wish he could find something looser. It’s always too warm under the collar of his turtleneck, even if he’s always grateful to his User for letting him borrow his clothes. 

He ends up stepping back to the display that Quorra paused by at the entrance while she continues to browse. Gathering the same pair of pants the model wears, he takes a look at the selection of skirts and takes one for himself. Tron just hopes it isn’t against User etiquette to wear similar clothes. 

Trailing behind Quorra, he’s content with the choices he has, small as it is. Though the ISO continues to gather a taller and taller stack of different clothes, all of different colours, styles, patterns and shapes. Tron knows that if Alan were present, he’d encourage Tron to do the same. But he doesn’t see a purpose for doing so if it’s just for one event.

Though as they make their way to the ‘dressing rooms’, Tron’s passive scanning of the room bears results. He finds a long, pale dress that falls past the models ankles and covers its arms and neck in a way. Under the light, Tron can make out the delicate looking silver lace that wraps around the waist, neck and wrists. 

He's already listing of pros and cons in his head as they walk; it covers his circuits but the extra material is a tripping hazard, could snags but it seems easy enough to tear and form a makeshift bandage. A useful tool given how frequently Users attract trouble. Quorra leaves to grab her own stall, leaving Tron to navigate his way towards the area he’s locked on. And while their relationship fills both of them with hard memories, Tron did find comfort in having someone from their old home by his side. 

Setting down his own selection, he’s picking up two dresses at a time as he tries to figure out which would fit him best. Recalling what Quorra said about ‘sizes’, Tron checks the tag on his shirt and find the number he assume designates it. Though when he looks back to the corresponding dress, it still looks too small. 

“Sir?” Tron stiffens as he hears someone step and pause behind him, “are you looking for our plus sizes?”

Turning, he found another User dressed in the same uniform he’d noted others wear. He guesses she’s and the others served some sort of directive function, working for the store. She was standing attentively, but wears a smile that make Tron itch. 

“I’m not sure our store carries that size, but I’m sure I could find you something for your girlfriend.” She takes a step too close and tries to reach for his hand. The Program flinches back hard, stepping back hastily and dropping the hangars in the process. 

“Don’t.” He bends down quickly and resents the clothes, hoping he didn’t damage them, “I’m sorry I - I’d prefer not to be touched.” 

Her expression is clearly written confusion. Which soon morphs back into that same odd half-leer. “Alright. I don’t blame you. You probably get enough as it is.” 

Tron doesn’t bother asking what she means, he’s too confused by User idioms as it is. He shifts back to the topic at hand. “Are you certain you don’t have a larger size? This isn’t for a female friend, it’s for me.” 

“No.” She says in a pinched tone. As she speaks, she nibbles on her lower lip and stretches languidly, “but I’m sure you’ll find something better anyways-“ 

It seems that she’s only just finished realizing his words mid stretch. Tron doesn’t know what to make of her sudden pause. “Is something wrong?” 

She mutters something under her breath that Tron makes out to be _”Why are the good ones always like this?”_ though once again he’s unsure of what to make of it. As odd - borderline blasphemous - as it is to think, Tron starts to believe that this User won’t be very useful to his task at hand. 

“Thank you, but I’ll be fine.” He carefully folds the largest size over his arm and takes his leave. Over his shoulder, he can hear her poorly hidden scoff as he does. 

Tron wonders if he’s done something wrong yet again as he makes his way back to the change rooms. Quorra isn’t waiting by the benches, so he figures she’s still trying her new clothes. Looking back to his own set, he figures he should try the same before dismissing the Users claims. 

Locking the door and finding himself enclosed, Tron is glad at the persistent din of noise from the rest of the store. It isn’t white noise, something he’s far from comfortable with. Though once he begins to change, Tron makes it a point to try and avoid the full wall mirror on the backmost wall. He already knows where the scars curl around his torso, can feel how his circuits overlap the damaged skin.

The Program pulls the dress over himself with haste to cover the markings. Surprisingly, it isn’t as tight as he’d expected. It’s looser in some places than others, but the material has enough give that it isn’t uncomfortable. Looking down at his arms, Tron can still see the faintest glow of light under the fabric, but anyone who noticed could just assume it was a trick of the light. 

He sees the shadows shift under the doorway and hears the knock a second after. “Tron?” Quorra asks. “Are you in there?” 

“Yes. Are you leaving?” He says, unlocking the door. 

“Well, if you need more time to choose an outfit that’s okay-“ 

The ISO is gapping once he finally open the door full way. He can’t understand why until she sees how her eyes keep tracing the outline of his body. The attention makes him frown and cross his arms. “I-sorry. You… you just look really, really good in that.” 

“I do?” Tron looks down at the dress. As far as he can tell he still looks the same. Though now he sees some of the other Users are starting again. He meets their gaze and they swiftly turn back towards their business. Twisting back, the Program wonders if he’s wearing it wrong. 

Quorra nods, Tron still doesn’t know what to make of her expression and it’s starting to become irritating. She coughs into her hand. “I’ll wait out here then.” 

He makes a note to ask Alan about their reactions once they’re back home.


End file.
